Tuesday, September 30, 2008


On checkerboard linoleum
in the

peeking through
the evergreen's needles.


William Keckler said...

It's so hard to do poems of simple images that have a resonance beyond the addition of 1 + 1 + 1 + 1..., and yet you succeed wonderfully here.

I could imagine this as a translation of a poem written in the year 1348 or 1877 or 2012 by some zen poet who has been studying winter as a notebook.

It's the way a Shaker room (to speak of the extinct) can be a luminous poem.

We covet such emptiness...as though it were something we can't afford.

And. Living here. I suppose we can't.

Rachel said...

I apsire to be a shaker. I'm always purging the layers of life that build up around me and in me. Thanks for your comment.